Ever Think About…

A harsh wind is blowing in from the Gulf.  The sound of the wind and crashing surf is almost deafening.  The water is cold to the touch this late in October, clouds in the distance, an ominous sign of a storm to come.  On the next Key you can just make out the lighthouse, long unneeded but still functional.  A warning from the past that land was near.

All of these things mean nothing to the boy.  He just stands and looks at the water’s edge.  Picking at the sand and the shells washed up on by the waves.  Those waves tickle his toes as they move up and onto the beach.  He is not concerned with their coolness.  The gusts of wind drown out the surrounding voices.  All he hears is the one in his head that tells him to play just a bit longer.  The next wave may wash up something beautiful.

Its 6:46 in the morning, I am waiting by the water near St. Petersburg.  The air is cool and a breeze is coming in from the south.  Some structure is burning to the north.  I could see the pillar of smoke and flashing lights as I made my way south towards the shoreline.  The first tinges of the sunrise have started to show on the horizon.  A green light flashes offshore, a warning to the night travelers that the jetty is close. I sit and wait.  A dog trots by in the early morning, he stops and sniffs the air, then moves on.  Nothing interesting here he thinks.  Just a guy, up too early, waiting and watching.  The smell of the ocean begins to move with the breeze.  It is a mixture of salt and seaweed.  The smells and the sounds of the water hitting the rocks relaxes me.   The colors of the sky begin to change from the black of night and into the reds and oranges of the early morning.  I still wait, it is not quite time yet.  I am patient.   A man with a fishing pole walks out to the sea wall and the dog follows, the dog seems to have found what he was looking for.  The sky begins to brighten a little more, it is almost time.  I slide a freshly charged battery into my camera and turn off my truck.  It is time.

By 9:30 I have made my way further south of St. Pete.  The drive to the tip of the peninsula was short and now I sit looking at the Skyway bridge from the south end of Ft. Desoto Park..  The sun is much higher in the sky but the breeze is still blowing from the south.  I get out and walk the twenty yards to the shore.  The salt smell of the sea is now stronger.  The shore is littered with sea grasses and washed up jellyfish.  A white foam borders the sand just before the water.  I snap photos as I move down the shore line.  A small flock of seagulls ignore me, they pick at the sand as I walk by.  Fishermen are in a boat just off shore, they cast their poles hoping for a bite.  As I move further up the water’s edge a shell catches my eye.  I bend down to pick it up, the colors move from a white to a pink and then to a brown.  After I rinse it at the waters edge I find that it has an interesting beauty.  My exploring is not complete so I turn and head back to my truck.

I leave the deserted beach and head west.  Just driving, only knowing the general direction I am heading.  The sign pointing to the old fort screams at me and so I follow its lead.  I veer off to the left and follow the road.  The fort is very well hidden by the over growth.  I stop and get out.  Finding a path that leads north along its edge I start walking.  Century old gun batteries line the walkway pointing to the east and west.  Along the west side of the walkway the fort walls rise above me, from time to time doorways open up and lead into the darkness of the fort.  I turn and follow one, the coolness envelopes me and my footsteps echo off the walls.  I move back out into the growing warmth of the day and continue north.  At the end of the fort a stairway leads up the side to the roof, I slowly climb the stairs to the top.  The sky opens up over the water and in the distance I can see the lighthouse on the nearby key. The roof leads south back to another set of stairs that leads down.  I find my truck and move on, leaving the ghosts behind to man the long forgotten fort.

I head north, out and away from the water, mid-day is approaching and it is starting to heat up.  It is time to head home.  The real work begins now, in the darkroom, where all the magic is truly made.

Fishing as the sun rises over the water is always a good way to start the morning.  Yesterday I found a couple of guys doing just that. The sun was rising over Tampa Bay and I was out just looking to get some nice photos of the Palm Harbor Marina Pier in the morning sunshine.  As I was wrapping things up I noticed one of the guys above walking out with his fishing poll and he started to cast.  I could not pass up the silhouette of him and his friend with the sun rising behind him.  What a great way to start the day.

Much to my surprise a case of real Coca Cola made it to my kitchen yesterday. Yes, Coke made with real sugar! Oh yeah and its in glass bottles.  I could not believe it, to my knowledge I have never tasted real Coke before.  If I have it was so long ago that I have forgotten that wonderful sugary goodness.  I also found that there is something about the sound the glass bottle makes when I open it.  It is nothing like a plastic bottle or even a can.  It almost makes a sound that says “Ahhhhhh”.  You can either pour it over ice or drink it right from the bottle.  Since yesterday I have done both.  The bottle with my omelette this morning was amazing.  The carbonation seems so much lighter than the other Coke too, this real Coke goes down so smooth.   So where can you get this wonderful real Coke made with real sugar that tastes oh so good?  Mexico…yes the Mexicans have got it right.  Now if you are lucky you might be able to find it locally.  I did, but I don’t know if I will get it again, however for now, I will enjoy the 24 bottles I got.  They are currently in the wine chiller waiting for me to bring out the bottle opener and release the pure goodness.  Cheers!

Its 7am on a Saturday morning, I have been awake for 3 hours.  “Insanity” you must be screaming, however I assure you that I am completely sane (so says every other “committed” person out there).  I have been sitting here just listening, listening to good music.  Everything from The Ramones to Katy Perry and back again to Maroon 5 and The Offspring.  Sometimes music just moves me.  It awakens something that is hard to explain.  I can sit for hours just listening to good music.  It seems like the creativity of others flows out of them through their art and into you.  Sometimes you may take things from the lyrics, sometimes you can relate, other times its just the sound of the music and you totally ignore what they are saying.  Music is like a fuel for your soul.  That fuel could be used for many things.  It motivates me to write, to create and to get things done.  Music creates images, it provokes ideas.  Music is a medium that can be different for every person,  it can be something shared or individual.  It is what you want it to be.  Music is…